


growin' up strider

by SaltyKumquats



Series: Psyche Proclaimed [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Family, Gen, POV Second Person, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyKumquats/pseuds/SaltyKumquats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Dave grows up with a sister, and life isn't so different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You are Dave Strider and you are four years old.

You've just narrowly missed having your ear taken off by a stray shuriken that came flying out at you when you were rummaging through the cupboards looking for something to eat. It was a second later when it dawned on you that you had moved out of the way in time without even realising, but the weapon had still managed to nick the side of your brow, leaving a thin cut. You didn't cry - you were too surprised to - but somehow your big sister, who had been god knows where at the time, had known and almost immediately had you scooped up and deposited on the couch.

She's applied a bandage to the cut and runs her thumb across it before smoothing your hair back. You can't help but frown and raise your hands to "fix" it to the way it was. She chuckles, knocking your hands away and twists her own to ruffle your hair rigorously instead, messing it up even further and almost knocking your shades askew.

"Gotta learn to keep an eye out, kiddo."

It's a good, long while before you realise that instances of finding strange and/or dangerous things in unexpected places around the apartment started increasing not long after this incident.


	2. Chapter 2

You are five years old.  
  
You've started going to school and being around other kids has lead you to notice a few things. Such observations eventually lead to a question one day, after Sis has brought you home. She pauses as you bring up the M and D words, leaning back in her chair and resting her chin in her palm, and you can just  _feel_  her eyes boring into you, unreadable as they are through her shades and your own. You try to look as impassive as she does but it takes effort not to squirm.  
  
Eventually, the corner of her mouth quirks up in a half-smile. "Plane crash."  
  
Any further attempts to appear impassive fail as you stare at her with unabashed amazement. "Really?"  
  
"Nah."  
  
After that, it's three years of outrageous story after outrageous story - your parents were murdered as part of a government conspiracy to turn the general populace into drones via pop music and shitty comics; you're both the illegitimate children of a wealthy merchant who trades in swords and puppets; your mother is part of a secret organisation working to save the world from a takeover by dogs after one bit your dad - until you learn better than to ask, although you never stop wondering, especially after the one time she responds with, "When you're older."


	3. Chapter 3

You are six years old.  
  
Sis has started teaching you how to use her turntables, usually for an hour or two after school has ended. Even with your young mind, you realise how taxing it must be for her considering she's bouncing between several odd jobs during the day and the occasional gig at night, but Sis seems to have limitless energy and never once appears exhausted (at least, not where you can see). Besides, it's hard to hide your delight a lot of the time because, unlike the horror stories other kids bring to school about classical music lessons and horrible teachers, you find jamming with Sis to be  _fun_.  
  
You get the feeling sometimes that she thinks the same way, even if your heart sinks a little whenever she sniggers or teases you if you get something wrong and the music turns into a mess.  
  
And then she hands you your first sword: a real one, sharp and with weight, not like the plastic thing you've been playing with since you can remember.  
  
Sis grins down at you. "Well, I think school's got you and all your numbers and letters in order. Now it's time to  _learn_ , little bro."


	4. Chapter 4

You are seven years old.  
  
It's been a month or two since you've moved on from learning the basics and since then, you've been learning from almost pure experience with the occasional rare advice. You have yet to land a hit on Sis; you getting your ass handed to you by your older sister is a thing that keeps happening though. She's watching you now with a smirk, one hand on her hip and idly twirling her sword with the other, as you struggle to untangle yourself from Lil' Cal's limbs.  
  
"Speed," she drawls, pivoting on one foot to head in the direction of the stairs, "is key. Doesn't matter how hard the other guy can hit if he can't even touch you."  
  
You finally manage to unwind Cal's arm from yours. You grab your dropped sword and make a run for Sis' exposed back, but she casually sidesteps and picks you up by the back of your shirt in one movement. A light but well-aimed kick at your small hands knocks the sword to the concrete again, then she just as casually throws you a few feet in the opposite direction. She smirks at you again as you stare back at her, a little too winded to get back up just yet, and she slings Cal (when did she pick him up?) over her shoulder.  
  
"Of course, there's no point in being fast if the guy's smart enough to know where you're headed so he  _can_. You gotta be aware, and  _think_  - always stay two-three-whatever steps ahead. And we Striders, we got brains, don't we?"  
  
The setting sun at her back casts her long shadow over you as you get shakily to your feet and wander over to retrieve your sword. You consider trying another "surprise" attack, but then her hand settles on your shoulder and you can't help but jump.  
  
"You can't always follow the same rhythm, little bro. It's boring and too predictable." She circles her hand as though working her turntables. "You have to learn to make your own."


End file.
